Secret
by HarryPotterGrl100
Summary: Cal has a secret, one he is desperate to hide. When Rose discovers it, will she ever grow to love him? And all this as the Titanic sinks in a few days?
1. Chapter 1

**New story I mentioned. :) Review if you like, I love reading them! :) And as for an issue people may think of-from all my research (trying not to spoil) you cannot infect a healthy person with this through kissing, even if you have the active form of it as long as you take your medicine and stay away from others until you are no longer contagious-usually a three-week period. Even if you still have the active form of it, and are still ill, you can't infect others after the period you could give it to others has passed through isolation. **

December 1911

He remembered that day so clearly. It had been the day his life had effectively ended.

The coughing had started in mid-November, and the fevers he had experienced, mostly at night, had been so bad, all he wanted to do was rest.

However, soon the cough brought blood with it-and soon he found himself coughing up great amounts of blood and phlegm, so his throat felt like it was on fire.

Then there were the spells he felt so dizzy, it seemed like the world was spinning.

Then the chills.

He started staying home from work more frequently, and finally, he had had enough.

He made an appointment with his physician, who had treated the Hockley family since before he was born, and was effectively rendered numb by the news.

He had consumption.

He had never felt more alone than he had felt at that moment-the doctor, carelessly saying the news as though it were just a scraped knee.

The x-rays had come back positive. He would have to go on a strict antibiotic regimen and in addition, go to a specialized sanatorium in England for a time if he wanted to have the best possible chance of recovery-or, in the doctor's words, "enjoy the time he had left."

Was it possible he could give it to others? No, after a certain point of taking his medicine, and being isolated in the sanatorium until he was no longer contagious, he would not be able to transmit the disease to others-though it was important he always take it. He had active consumption. which meant the disease would always be active in his body and he would always have symptoms, and the medicine was especially important to slow down the (eventually lethal) effects of the disease. The doctor had seen this many a time before in patients—curiously, after patients began taking the medicine, it helped a great deal. At first, the disease progressed so very slowly that most days it was like patients were healthy. They even looked healthy. And for the most part, felt perfectly healthy, provided they took their medicine regularly. This would go on for the first few years-eventually, though, over a long period of time, it would spiral rapidly, and medicine would be of no help.

Was there a cure for it? No. There wasn't.

How much time did he have left? His blood had literally run cold as the doctor had smiled and said, one and a half to two years. Maybe three, if he was lucky, and always diligent in taking his medicine. The disease would grow very slowly, but steadily worse.

He wanted his mother. He wanted his poor mother, dead since he was seventeen years old. He wanted Rose. Not that she would ever care or ever return his feelings.

He was glad his father wasn't still alive-his father would have laughed, and said he was even more of a failure than he had ever thought possible—the mantra Cal had lived by since he was small. And all the insults, and all the beatings… God how he had hated his father, glad he was dead…

* * *

He went home that night and sat in the parlor of his mansion, alone with his thoughts. He was to die. Die effectively of a disease of which there was no cure. He felt dead inside. He would tell no one about it. No one could know. He would hide it. They would all think him disgusting, even more of a failure than they already probably thought about him behind his back…he was useless to everybody, he had always known that. And Rose…she would find him even more revolting. And Ruth-the engagement would be off like that. No woman wanted her daughter to marry a handsome, wealthy, charming bachelor with consumption. Oh no. No matter how desirable and how good of a match it was.

His heart constricting, he lay on the couch in the warm, darkening room and watched the flickering fire die. But what hurt most of all was the fact that Rose would definitely, definitely, never, ever love him back now.

* * *

The process was rather easy. He had made his dreaded appointment, and sent a message to Ruth that he was on a rather pressing business trip to Europe for two-three months.

That was easy enough.

His arrival at that somber brick building had been horrid. Everybody there was so depressed. There was fresh air. A bed. A room all to himself.

Then there were the dreaded medications. Medications that he would eventually have to buy and have continuous prescriptions of. The cost, of course, was of no distress to him.

They tasted awful. At first he grew ill and vomited. The nurses had smiled and said that that was normal.

Eventually, he built up a rather odd tolerance to them. He swallowed the bitter pills everyday, stayed shut up in his room, took walks when told, anything to get out of that blasted place and get his life back.

He missed Rose.

It hurt him that she always ignored him and honestly was always quiet, never saying much to him, even though he honestly never did anything wrong, always smiled at her and said the nicest words to her, tried to engage her in conversation. Tried to get her to at least smile at him. Which she did, once in a while.

He had heard her say to Trudy that she didn't want to get married at all, and wanted to live her life, that it was all her mother's fault.

It had still hurt. He loved her, but she hated him. He could just tell.

* * *

Christmas was effectively the loneliest time of his life. On Christmas Eve, he had lain in his dark bed, alone in his little room, and finally succumbed to tears.

* * *

He had a nagging suspicion about how he had contracted it. Every Holiday season, around Thanksgiving and Christmas, he made it mandatory for Hockley Steel to donate new toys and games, and even clothes and money, for the less fortunate of Philadelphia downtown—in other words, the poor. He bought a lot of the items every year with his own money. He always took them with some of his friends to orphanages and homeless shelters—places no "normal" first class person ever deigned to visit. Truth be told, he always enjoyed visiting with the children at the orphanage-it broke his heart to see how sad and miserable they all were, with no good clothes, little food, and no love or happiness in their lives. Some of them were terminally ill as well. But it never mattered to him. They were still people, and they melted his heart. The greatest gift was when he would watch them open gifts and earnestly smile and hug him. He remembered how one little girl, who had always wanted a doll, had hugged him when she had finally opened one. And a little boy named Bobby, who the nurses had whispered was ill and was to die soon, had lit up when he had finally received new clothes and the latest 1911 comic book.

He always left with a smile on his face, both from visiting children and the adults, who were also sick, some of them, and he always was glad he had done it. He wanted children of his own so badly some day. He would never treat them the way his father had treated him, and his mother.

He could not bring himself to regret it though-he never could.

* * *

Finally, finally, at the end of February, he had been able to leave. For good. He was no longer contagious.

Ironic. He was still ill, of course, still had symptoms, still felt weak at times—though thankfully, those times were few and far between. Still coughed horribly, though the medicine did help. Would still die. But he was _free. _Free to go home. Free to go to parties. Free to go to work. Free to see Rose.

When he had heard about the ship everybody was talking about, the Titanic, he had booked two tickets immediately for Rose and himself. The perfect way to sail back to America in style for the wedding.

And for him it really was the opportunity of a lifetime. The Ship of Dreams, it was called.

Maybe his final dream would come true.


	2. Chapter 2

**For the medicine, I looked and tuberculosis patients back in the 18th/19th/20th centuries, before medical technology was as advanced, were commonly given such things as iodine pills, vitamins, etc. for medicine, as well as some drugs that really didn't do much in the way of treating it. That is what I mean when by medicine. Enjoy!**

* * *

Sailing day was disappointing for Cal. There they were, at Southhampton, and they were standing in front of the ship. He couldn't help but smile. It looked absolutely fantastic, as fantastic as everyone had said, but Rose was quiet and only looked at the ship.

As they boarded, he looked about him with awe, but he could feel Rose on his arm only looking about her with mild aloofness.

She looked like she would rather be anywhere else than with him.

Their stateroom and lodgings were beautiful and the height of luxury, but again, Rose was quiet. Cal was dejected. He couldn't even make her happy with a trip like this.

However before he left her in her room before unpacking in his, he smiled softly at her. "Those are interesting paintings, Rose, though I must confess I am not that interested in that style of art."

She only looked at him, but somehow, it was...different than she had looked at him before. He could not place or name the difference though. She gave him a small smile. "They are...Thank you for buying them for me," she said awkwardly.

He smiled. "It was no trouble at all."

But as she turned around, he was dejected again. A rare moment had passed.

Later that day, he was taking a walk around the first-class deck, enjoying the fresh air. He smoothed back his loose dark hair that was blowing from the wind. Unlike most first-class men, he never wore hair gel. He disliked it.

However, his heart stopped as he saw Rose sitting on a bench, talking with what appeared to be a third-class man, judging from his dress and appearance. They were sitting and talking together, and laughing together. She was holding what appeared to be a book of...drawings?

Hiding behind a pole, he listened. "Well these are so interesting Jack," she was saying. "I wish I could draw like this."

They both laughed. "Well I could give you lessons if ya want."

They both laughed again. "Oh goodness what a disaster that would be."

He couldn't watch anymore. It hurt too much. Bitter bile was rising in his throat, and somehow, he knew it was something other than pure heartbreak.

He needed his medicine.

Going to his stateroom, he didn't close the door. He didn't have time. Pulling out his handkerchief, he raised it just in time. The coughing attack started, and it was marginally worse than before he had been diagnosed in December, but somehow, better than when he had been in the infirmary

That didn't comfort him though.

He coughed for a good while, and his heart jerked as he observed the dark scarlet blood on the white linen of the handkerchief afterward. It seemed to be a tad more than he had been coughing up lately—but just barely.

The last time he had had this much had been...four weeks ago? Then he rolled his eyes. He was worried over nothing.

He took his medicine, and then he nearly dropped the water glass as he observed Rose standing there in the doorway through the mirror. Had she been there the whole time?

He was speechless. "Cal, what's wrong?"

He only laughed bitterly. Not at her. Never at her. But, rather, at himself and his hatred of his disease. "What does it look like Rose? I-Well, I have consumption, darling. But no matter, only another reason for you to hate me and be disgusted by me. Don't you and...Jack have something to go talk about? I saw the way you were looking at each other...I...I was taking a walk and I just happened to see you two."

He rolled his eyes, trying to look nonchalant, as if it didn't affect him, but it did.

She only looked at him, shocked. "I don't hate you," she said evenly. "I never did. I...goodness, I was actually looking for you, to come and talk to you. And as for what you saw with Jack, why, that was nothing. I was taking a walk down by the bow and I wasn't looking where I was going, and I was clumsy, as usual, and I knocked into him and made his papers blow all over the place. I felt horrid, and I invited him up to the first-class deck and helped him gather them, and we were just talking for awhile."

He was quiet, feeling his heart speed up at his relief.

"But Cal-my goodness, what's this about consumption? Oh goodness-"

He smiled bitterly. "I was diagnosed in late December."

She only stared at him. "So that was your business trip, was it? You...you...you must have lied about..."

He smiled at her again, in a self-deprecating way. "Yes. I did. I actually went to a horrid place, a sanatorium in England. I am no longer contagious, and cannot pass the disease on to you or anybody else. You do not need to worry."

She only stared. "But Cal...why...goodness...why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you..."

He laughed bitterly. "Oh goodness Rose, I didn't tell anybody because I don't want anybody to know. You know how all of first-class people back home are...everybody would sneer at me. And as for Ruth, I didn't tell her because I knew she would have called the engagement off. And as for you..." he stopped, growing quiet.

She took a step closer to him. "As for me, what?"

He only looked at the carpet. "I...I did not tell you because I knew you would neither care nor even attempt to grow to love me back, once you knew."

He could not look at her. It was her voice that brought his eyes to her face.

"Cal...oh goodness...I'm sorry for the way I have acted, all these months. I truly am. It was never you I was mad at. It was...it was my mother, for pushing me into what she wanted, for pushing at me my whole life. And I was mad at myself. I was...why I was nothing more than a little child, to be honest. And I took that anger and deflected that at you, and I am truly sorry. But these past few months I have been truly thinking, and I want to give us...I wanted to give us...a real chance. Life is what you make it, and I know that when I am an old woman, I do not want to look back and see that I let happiness slip by with both hands. I only know you a little, and from what you seem, you are not at all like the typical first-class man my mother has set me up with in the past. Far from it."

He stared at her, feeling himself starting to smile, starting to grow happy, but one other thought stopped him. Stabbed him in the heart.

"But Rose...that makes me so happy, you have no idea how much, but..."

"But what?"

"But how will you feel if we get married and I die a year, two years after that?"

She only smiled at him. "Then that will be the best two years of my life."

He stared at her, dumbstruck.

She only laughed softly. "Oh Cal, I don't care that you have consumption. I truly don't. I...I am nothing like those other snobby first-class ninnies at all the parties, who only care about your good looks and money, who hang all over you and fawn on your every word, throwing themselves at you and practically fainting when you even smile at them, and fighting each other for you..."

She didn't even seem to realize that she had started to pace, letting the disdain, and was that...envy?...plainly show on her face and in her tone of voice.

At the end, she started, and blushed. "Oh goodness, I...ah...goodness, I'm...I'm sorry. I...I couldn't help myself."

He only smiled and winked at her. "Well well Rose, I had no idea you were so jealous of them."

She only looked at him. "Oh goodness...fine, I'll admit it, yes I was! But don't you start getting a big head over that, Caledon Hockley."

He smiled. "Oh I won't...but goodness darling, that makes me wonder what else you would say if you were unaware of it."

She laughed. "Oh goodness."

He smiled, winking at her, hoping to tease her and see that blush again. "But my my Rose, you think I'm handsome? Just how handsome, really?"

She only smiled shyly and walked over to him, running her hand through his soft dark hair. She truly did find him handsome. She always had.

"Insanely handsome." She smiled at him, and he saw the truth in her eyes and on her face, as well as in her words. He snorted and smiled, rolling his eyes, not believing her. He could feel his face redden.

"Please, you do not Rose."

"Oh goodness but I do," she said seriously. "And have you honestly never noticed how all the other women look at you at all the parties and galas we attend?"

He felt his face redden even more. He had always found himself...mildly appealing, but...

She smiled. "I do believe you are blushing, Cal."

He snorted again, knowing full well she was right but not wanting to admit it. He rolled his eyes upward. "I am not."

She laughed. "Oh I'll let you have that one, Mr. Hockley, but I know full well you were."

He only rolled his eyes, smiling, and turned away. "Ha ha Rose."

She only laughed. As the moment passed, he suddenly whirled around. "Rose? Would you...like to spend time together later?"

She smiled. "I would love to. But on one condition..."

He smiled. "And what's that?"

"You must not wear hair gel, ever. I saw this one man earlier, and his hair looked like it was caked onto his head."

He laughed. "Lucky for you, darling. I never do. I dislike it."

She smiled. "Oh good. Besides..." Then she stopped, suddenly shy.

He smiled indulgently at her. "Besides what?"

"Your hair looks very attractive the way it is right now, all down and natural," she said shyly, blushing.

He thought it was adorable. He winked at her, and to his amusement, her blush deepened.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," he said.

As she left, laughing all the while, he felt like the luckiest man in the world. It was hard, just then, to even remember he was sick...almost.


	3. Chapter 3

**So sorry for the lack of steady updates...school is the cause though, I swear! XD And for this chapter, I had fun researching Harvard sports circa 1900...it was amazing seeing all the archives from all those years ago! I put Cal's birth year at 1882 and Rose's at 1895...pretty sure they were like that for the actual movie anyway. So if interested, I put his Harvard years 1900-1904. Enjoy, and I will have the next chapter up hopefully by the end of this week...I have the whole rest of the story planned, so I hope it doesn't seem like I am abandoning this! XD Let me know how you liked it! :)**

Later that day, Rose and Cal took a walk together around the first-class deck.

Rose looked so beautiful to him, he couldn't help but smile.

"So...goodness, I don't know where to start," she said, laughing.

He smiled.

"Well, what were your parents like?" she asked, turning to look at him.

He still smiled, but his smile slowly vanished. "My mother was the best mother in the world, and she...she passed away from pneumonia when I was seventeen," he said quietly.

She gasped. "Oh Cal, I'm so sorry," she said sadly.

He smiled. "It's quite alright, Rose," he said. At length she spoke once again.

"And...and your father?" she asked. Here his expression grew hard.

"Oh, my father was, to put it simply, an arrogant, abusive bastard to the both of us. He...he passed away a year ago, in fact, and to put it frankly, I am glad he is dead," he said without a flinch.

She only looked at him, not judging him. "Oh, I see."

After a time, he smiled at her. "And your parents?" he said, gently nudging her shoulder. "Well, I mean your father, really," he said, laughing. She laughed with him.

"Oh goodness, where to start. Well, there's my mother. I... I feel about her the same way you feel about your father," she said. "And my father..." Here she grew sad.

"Rose, if you don't want to tell me, you don't have to..."

"No, no. I..." Here she turned to him, and there were tears in her eyes. He felt his heart twist. "My...my father passed away a year ago as well, only...I loved him so...so much. He...he died from a heart attack..." She began to sob. Cal felt horrible for bringing up the subject.

"Oh Rose," he said softly. He wanted to comfort her, but didn't want her to think he was rushing the relationship.

He was saved when she suddenly turned to him, her expression tortured. "Cal, can you...h...hold me?" she asked.

He smiled gently at her. "I'd do anything that you asked of me, Rose."

She blushed a little through her tears, and suddenly Rose found herself melting in his arms, sobbing, breathing in his heavenly cologne, just comforted by how gentle he was and how he smoothed down her hair. Feeling his heartbeat, slow and steady.

After a time, she drew back, breathing heavily. "Well that was dreadfully embarrassing," she said, snorting a little.

He only smiled gently at her. "It's quite all right, Rose."

She smiled at him, comforted.

"Well, I feel like a fool," he said, "so let's change the subject, to one that will make you smile that beautiful smile of yours."

She smiled, laughing softly.

"I know you're seventeen, but..."

"And I know you're thirty..." she mimicked him. He smiled.

"What do you like to do for leisure?" he asked her.

He was gladdened at the sudden light that came into her eyes, that sparkle that he had caused.

"Goodness, nobody's ever asked me about myself before...Well, I love to read, and act...I've always wanted to become an actress," she said.

He smiled, "Well you certainly would make a gorgeous and talented one," he said.

She smiled. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. And if that is the case, I shall have to sign you up for acting lessons for your birthday," he said.

She actually clapped her hands. "Oh goodness, Cal...you don't have to...but...oh goodness, you really mean that?"

He smiled. "Yes, if you would like them."

She only stared at him, an odd yet happy expression on her face, and then suddenly, she launched herself at him and kissed him on the cheek.

He smiled. "I should ask you about yourself more often, if that's the response I get," he teased.

She laughed.

Prodding her, he asked her to go on.

She laughed again, the sound musical and light to his ears. "Well, I also love the theater, and art, and I also love ballet...I suppose that was the only thing I actually enjoyed at finishing school," she said. He laughed at the expression on her face.

"And well, after all that, I also have always wanted to learn how to ride horses without the sidesaddle, and travel, and do lots of other things. I love being outdoors, and being free, and not being programmed by people."

He smiled gently at her. "I'll make sure you do all of those things, Rose."

She smiled at him, that happy light dancing in her eyes directed at him, of all people.

She gently nudged him."And what about yourself?"

He smiled. "Well, I also rather like the theater, and I like to read, and ride horses and play sports, but I also like to travel, and being outdoors, and being free, and not being programmed by people."

She smiled. "So you hate first-class too?"

He snorted. "Oh God yes! They're all a bunch of snobby boors! Except my friends, of course."

She laughed loudly. "Oh goodness, I feel the same way. I...I mean, you're the only person who's first-class who actually is human, excluding my friends, of course."

He smiled. "And you are as well."

She smiled at him, and their eyes locked, and Rose had to look away at how her heart was pounding.

They resumed walking. "So what other fun things do you like?" she asked.

He smiled. "Well, I've never gone to one, but...well...on our honeymoon, would you like to go to that amusement park in Santa Monica?"

She gasped. "Oh goodness, you can't be serious, but...oh goodness, I've always wanted to go to one of those!"

He smiled. "That will be quite the adventure."

She smiled. "Of course. I can hardly wait."

"Neither can I."

She smiled. "Now, you mentioned you liked playing sports...expand on that more."

He smiled and winked at her. "Well, not to brag, Rose darling, but during my Harvard days, I was on the men's varsity wrestling team, ice hockey team, and baseball team. I also liked to run track as well."

She was impressed. "Goodness!"

He smiled. "And my Freshman year, we beat Yale in hockey, and I scored the winning goal."

She smiled. "Oh that's wonderful. I've always wanted to ice-skate, but Mother would never let me."

He winked at her. "Rumor has it I'm still very good at skating...I could teach you this winter, if you like."

Her eyes lit up again. "Yes, please!"

He winked at her. "Your wish is my command."

She smiled. "Well, Harvard...I know you're very brilliant."

He smiled. "Oh, I'm not very...I mean, I was the best in my class in high school, and graduated top of my class at Harvard, but...that really doesn't mean anything."

She smiled. "Cal, that's wonderful. I wish more men were modest like you.

"And another thing, I've always wanted to learn the business of stocks...you are the head of Hockley Steel, and you run it so well. I've always wanted to know..."

He smiled. "Well if you want to learn stocks, I can teach it to you. And as for Hockley Steel, well, that was the only good thing my father ever did for me, to be honest."

She smiled. "And Rose, if you desire...I could teach you how to ride a horse with both legs, if you like."

She only smiled again. "Oh goodness, this will be such fun learning new things."

He smiled. "And I suppose you can teach me all about your paintings."

She only laughed. "Why I'd love to."

Soon she grew serious. After a good long while, she looked at him. "Cal?"

"Yes?"

She hesitated, unsure where to begin. "About your...your illness. The consumption."

His expression darkened. It had been so nice just to forget that for awhile.

"Just...how...how long did the doctor say you h...have?"

He looked bitterly ahead of him, at the reddening sky. "A year to two years for sure. Then after that, my..._condition _will slowly spiral, and then I will waste away rapidly. Apparently the doctor has seen this type of case many a time before, with the same results...it's almost like being healthy in the first few stages, with only a minor condition to remind you, and then, suddenly, as time goes on, it will rapidly attack you and be the death of you. They think it's some rare, odd strain of consumption, but obviously, with there being no cure and very little research, they cannot possibly stop it or make any significant advances, or even understand why it progresses so slowly."

She only looked at him. Then she squeezed his hand. "I won't leave you, Cal. I won't.

He only smiled at her, his anger forgotten. "I...I know, Rose. I..I just hope you know that I...love you."

She blushed.

The moment was broken when a trumpet blared around the first-class deck.

"Goodness, why do they always have to announce dinner like it's some damn circus event around here?" Molly Brown said to Rose and Cal as she passed.

Rose laughed. And she saw Cal smile.

"We have to sit by her," she whispered to him. He only pulled her closer to him. "Oh we will darling. We will."


End file.
